Same cat time, same cat channel

Ok, so it's kinda looking like this "forced transition back to regular blogging" is a miserable failure... to the unschooled observer. Those of you who are of a more nuanced and reasoned holy oxymorons catman bent of mind will recognize that sure, while it may look like I'm not accomplishing a darned thing on the outside, I'm just busting with blogging goodness on the inside. For instance, take this week's litany of things I came within a hair's breadth of blogging about:

I almost revisited a sore subject that seems to be resurfacing. And needs to. Had I done so, I would have referenced Cao's blogburst post on it, probably pointing out that the reason John Kerry isn't under investigation for his crimes is that they're well past the sell-by date. While his post-Vietnam behavior was reprehensible, the reason the public can't afford to let go of this issue has nothing to do with prosecuting him for anything; it can be summed up with the word "character". He hasn't given up his presidential ambitions yet, and I think we deserve a Democrat candidate who is not so small and shabby a man as his conduct demonstrates him to be. In fact, we deserve a Senator of better caliber than that, but I suppose that's a matter for the good people of Massachusetts to contend or abide. In the entirely realistic event that our next president has a (D) after their name, I want a president I can respect. The Democrat party can, and should, do better.

I felt the wind on my face from a follow-up to the huile-for-fromage scandal post that I didn't write last week. The one that I didn't write this week would in all likelihood have concerned the topic covered by Damian at Pave France; Villepin Defends Pink Elephants French Diplomatic Honor. It was probably much better written by Damian anyway, and by that tortured logic this lack of productivity actually goes in the "W" column.

What I might have written about also is this disquieting bit of news from David's Medienkritik; the American Institute for Contemporary German Studies honoring the CEO of Bertelsmann AG with it's annual Global Leadership dinner. Given the alleged mission of AICGS, the holdings of BAG, and the typical conduct of those holdings, this is not altogether unlike honoring Robert Byrd for his contributions to racial harmony. As always at David's, some good discussion follows.

What I didn't really come very close to writing about at all, but might have, is Harriet Meirs. I would frankly be impressed to see someone say something about this which hasn't been said already, so I just don't see the point unless I happened to be hard up for subject matter (which I clearly am). The good news is that Bush seems poised to follow my advice and take a mulligan on this nomination. A real candidate could emerge next week, and I'm psyched. The end of the judocracy may be nigh.

And that means it's time for -- you guessed it! The frolicking felines of Friday Frickin' Cat Blogging. This week looks like trouble in paradise.

Why do Bengal tigers look so psychotic?

OK, so I made it from Friday to Friday without writing a thing. I almost wrote a lengthy piece about the u.n.'s Working Group on Internet Governance (why such silence in the blogosphere on this? Wake the hell up!), and I nearly wrote a little bit about developments in the Oil For Fraud program's French connection (John F. Opie's got you covered), and very nearly chimed in with a quip or two about musical bluetooth boobs (Cracker Barrel Philosopher, who could really use an easier-to-type name, handled them here). Nevertheless, I considered writing several times, which is a step in the right direction, so I declare victory. Kinda.

Which brings us to - your weekly dose of soft n' cuddly, Friday Frickin' Cat Blogging week 2.

"Look cross-eyed, beotch - I want you to!"

The longest journey

So I've been jonesing to start blogging on at least a semi-regular basis for weeks now, but there's this thing called "life" that I need to deal with, which has these things called "bills" that I'm not paying, and I keep thinking that as long as that's the case, I really have no business frittering my time away blogging.

Or do I?

In the most recent few weeks, I've been thinking that maybe - just maybe - it would be ok to just blog a little bit now and then. You know, not spend an hour or two writing something epic, but just sort of jot some random vitriol every now and then. "Aha! Good plan!" says I, but there's this hitch - two-hour epics are what I keep wanting to write, and I usually lose the craving to post mini-rants long before I could have gotten to Blogger's "new post" button anyway.

What I'm lacking is discipline.

It seems I'm in an old, familiar space here. What I need to do -- what I KNOW I need to do -- is to just buckle down and start doing it. I'm out of the habit, and I just need to make myself pound on my keyboard on some sort of regular basis until it's routine again. From there on in, it'll be smooth sailing. Works every time.

Of course, this introduces a problem. I'm accustomed to writing about whatever's stuck in my craw, or whatever I think could use a bit more exposure, or whatever I somehow came to believe was clever in a drunken fog. None of that's really available on command, per se. What can I do to have blog fodder on some sort of routine basis? What's light and airy writing, but yet regular enough for the job, and not likely to lose my interest too quickly?

All in a rush, it hits me. The answer was right friggin there, already built into the blogosphere, just waiting for me to embrace it. And, you know... everybody's doing it. Right? Right?

Friday Frickin' Cat Blogging.

It's perfect. At least once a week, I just need to make myself post the most endearing photos of felines that I can find*, and I'll be back into the habit of publicly disemboweling whoever's got my dander up in no time. So here it is - Friday Frickin' Cat Blogging, week one.

* Of course, this is provided that I manage to be aware that it is in fact Friday, and remember that I have something that I'm supposed to do. There's a flaw in every plan, I suppose...

OKC & TV

Preston Taylor Holmes of Six Meat Buffet thinks the recent suicide bomber in Oklahoma City looks like Tom Hanks with a dollop of Abe Lincoln thrown in. For my money, it's Doogie Howser and Screech Powers.